Fall from Grace
by semi-sweet and nuts
Summary: What if Willy Wonka startled Mrs Beauregarde by the candy tree instead of Mr Teavee?


Finally they were all off in different directions, scattered across the candy landscape. Willy Wonka let his guard down and showed a flash of panic in his technicolour eyes as his smile vanished. But the panic was soon replaced by the relief of being alone as he relaxed ever so slightly and strode off in a random direction, poking the mint grass with his candy cane. It was clear that he wanted to be for himself for a while, unseen, hiding behind a candy tree, catching his breath, or perhaps getting a reassuring thumbs up from some ever faithful Oompa-Loompa.

Instead, he accidentally surprised Mrs Beauregarde stuffing her mouth with candy apples and Mrs Beauregarde turned towards him and grinned a hideous grin, gory from the bright red candy apple juice. At this sight, Willy Wonka shuddered and dropped his cane. Mrs Beauregarde quickly grasped the situation, driven woman as she was, ran her tongue over her teeth and repeated the attempt of a dazzling white smile. Her smile was even more false than Willy Wonka's would have been, had he been smiling at that exact moment. He was, however, not, as if he deemed the situation unworthy of even a forged smile. He looked as if he didn't know whether to turn on his heel and briskly walk away and undecided simply remained motionless as Mrs Beauregarde had startled him startling her.

Mrs Beauregarde was the first to regain her composition. She sensed she had caught Willy Wonka off guard and, quickly glancing in all directions only to find the two of them quite alone, thought she should make the best of the situation. What was at stake in _this _competition was worth more than a fake smile or two. Here she was, after all, standing like Eve the temptress beneath the tree of knowledge. Mrs Beauregarde knew her Bible, as she knew everything suitable for licking upwards and kicking downwards, and she also knew that playing the good Christian would not get her anywhere with Willy Wonka, no, it was a rather different aspect of the story she had in mind. The fall from grace, more like it, or a faked fall from a faked grace.

The man was a loony, clearly, but not bad looking and with an apparent sense of cleanliness, at least. Good dental hygiene, despite living in candy land. And the loonier, the better, had he truly not been out of his factory for fifteen years he could hardly have seen a woman in those fifteen years. Mrs Beauregarde believed strongly in the power of blonde hair (thanks to peroxide), blue eyes and a good body. And hers was a _great _body. All those hours of work out had paid off before and they would pay off again. What would she not do for Violet, for Violet's victory? Not losing any time and without altering her monstrous smile she resolutely unzipped her jacket, showing off her firm breasts in a white laced bra. Before Willy Wonka had the chance to protest she took his glove-clad hands and placed them one on each breast. At this, Willy Wonka emitted a sound somewhere in between a whimper and a nervous giggle and immediately withdrew his hands as if burning them when Mrs Beauregarde let go to remove her jacket entirely. He didn't move though, it was as if he was frozen with panic and confusion in a situation where no cue cards could help him.

Mrs Beauregarde decided that a little striptease would be wasted on this mad hatter; she'd better get down to business before he collected himself enough to flee. Hence, she promptly kneeled before him, embracing his hips to stop him from moving. To this Willy Wonka reacted in much the same fashion as when Violet had hugged him – he became stiff with repulsion and glanced down at Mrs Beauregarde with panic-struck eyes. Mrs Beauregarde returned his look in a supposedly suggestive manner and licked her lips as she proceeded to unbutton his pants. He was, actually, stiff in more than one fashion. "I knew it, you perverted little freak" Mrs Beauregarde thought, "I knew you wanted it after all." She thought briefly about her hatred for effeminate men – they might be good for her purposes but she loathed them as she loathed anyone weaker than herself – and then she was all about business.

Willy Wonka just stood there with his hands hanging limply by his sides and his too-good-to-be-true eyes staring wildly straight ahead, as if not quite there, as if temporarily switched off for protection. Soon his knees began to tremble and his entire body resemble jelly and he mindlessly let himself sink first to his knees, then onto his back with the assistance of Mrs Beauregarde, who found it safe to let him go for a little while to rid herself of her pants and panties. He had closed his eyes now, clutching them together in a painful way as if shutting out an evil sight, and was clearly not going anywhere.

She climbed on top of him and went about her business as if it was an exercise program to be worked through, up-down, up-down, and Willy Wonka soon came, crushing the mint grass with his purple gloves and emitting a faint whimper. Mrs Beauregarde could afford to look a bit repulsed as nobody was watching her, and effectively rose and got dressed to rejoin her daughter with a proud, maternal smile as if nothing had ever happened. She left Willy Wonka lying flat on his back with the top hat toppled off, his eyes still closed and his old fashioned button fly still unbuttoned, exposing a square inch of perfectly pale flesh glistening with semen.


End file.
